Food speaks a universal language — a language of memory, migration, and transformation. In this photo journey, we trace a path from the hearty breakfasts of London to the slow-cooked beef cheeks of San Sebastián, the lively schnitzel houses of Vienna, the chaotic charm of Tijuana’s steak and Caesar salads, and the bold, all-American simplicity of a burger in Los Angeles — capturing the spirit of each place through its most iconic flavors and my favorites.

“Pull up a chair. Take a taste. Come join us. Life is so endlessly delicious.”.
-Ruth Reichl

Each of these dishes represents more than just a meal — they’re snapshots of cultures, ways of life, and moments you can feel. Sitting down to eat isn’t just about filling up; it’s about connecting — with a place, with a moment, with the people who made it possible.

Five Cities: Five Plates

Each one leaving its own mark. For me, it wasn’t just about finding the best meal or the most famous spot. It was about the small moments: the weight of a full English breakfast on a cold London Shoreditch morning, the slow unraveling of beef cheeks in a San Sebastián bar, the crisp perfection of schnitzel after a night out in Vienna, the rush of steak and Caesar in Tijuana’s chaos, and the sunset-soaked simplicity of In-N-Out Burger in Los Angeles on the beach. Every bite carries more than flavor — it carried a memory.

The real souvenirs aren’t the photos or the landmarks — they’re the quiet dinners, the easy laughter with Kara, the streets that felt softer just by who you were with. For me, it’s the taste that brings it all back — sunlight on old stone, a table for two, and the feeling that some journeys were always meant to be shared.

Wherever the next journey leads, it will always start — and end — with a plate full of stories and excitement.

Traveling for work isn’t something I takes for granted. Every city, every meal, every quiet moment is a reminder of how lucky I am to move through the world this way — to work, to explore, to find pieces of life in places I once only dreamed about. These memories aren’t souvenirs; they’re part of the story I’m still lucky enough to keep writing.